


soft breaths and quiet affection

by nanifuku (orenji)



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, Slice of Life, it's fluff, kind of???, riding this headcanon that kisumi was totally makoto's first bf btw, there's nothing more to this story but pure unadulterated fluff, ugh god this ship is going to consume my soul i already know it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 07:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2183829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orenji/pseuds/nanifuku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You—” Makoto cuts himself off and spins around, which forces Kisumi to straighten up off his back. He looks into the Kisumi's eyes before letting out a flabbergasted, “You were going to propose?”</p><p>“Well, yeah,” Kisumi says, averting his gaze, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m not sure if I should even do it now since you nearly <i>died</i>—”</p><p>(Or, moments in their lives as a couple.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	soft breaths and quiet affection

**Author's Note:**

> this was cross-posted on tumblr here: http://nanifuku.tumblr.com/post/95416073952/soft-breaths-and-quiet-affection-kisumako-teen
> 
> okay yo hear me out  
> i didn't plan on shipping this  
> but then i saw the new episode and end card  
> and i fell in love and i started imagining their life together and how happy they would be and then i wrote this little thing for fun and fuck my ass i love them so much i'm going to implode

“I missed you,” Kisumi says after Makoto’s done coaching the kids, voice resonating in the backroom. His tone is gentle and honest; his eyes are gentle and honest as they bore into Makoto’s own. He reaches out and places a hand on Makoto’s cheek, thumbing the cut of his cheekbones.

Makoto inhales slowly, leans into the touch, and closes his eyes. Kisumi’s hand is warm on his skin, palm soft but fingers calloused. Kisumi moves forward, Makoto can hear the slight echo of his footsteps, can feel the heat of his skin radiating off him as he inches nearer. Their chests are nearly touching, the tips of their shoes brush. Makoto opens his eyes, finds himself looking into intense violet ones, feels his breath stutter in his throat.

“Do you remember?” Kisumi asks in a hushed tone, leaning in until their noses bump, until his breaths hit Makoto’s lips.

“Yes,” Makoto replies, “I do.”

Kisumi presses closer and rubs their noses together, playfully, easily. Makoto tilts his head, inhales sharply when Kisumi’s lips catch on his Cupid's bow, when Kisumi’s hand leaves his face and trails down his body, landing on his hip.

“Kisumi,” Makoto murmurs softly, eyes half-lidded.

Kisumi’s lips quirk up the slightest bit. “Are you saying my name or telling me to kiss you?” he asks teasingly, but his voice is breathy and his hand tightens on Makoto’s hip and it gives him away.

“Both.”

 

* * *

 

“Your crush on Haru never worked out, then?” Kisumi asks, lying on Makoto’s bed, arms folded beneath his head as he looks up at the ceiling.

Makoto spins around on his computer chair, glasses on the bridge of his nose, before he raises a brow and his lips pull into a frown. “I never had a crush on Haru,” he says.

“So you and I are a thing because you actually like me?” Kisumi asks, laughing as if it’s a preposterous idea and it leaves Makoto so, so confused.

“Yes,” Makoto answers, eyebrows now drawing together. “What—why else would I be with you?”

Kisumi’s smile drops off his face. “Are you serious?” he asks in a whisper.

The way it’s asked makes Makoto’s heart thud dully against the constraints of his chest, makes him feel distraught, worried, somehow guilty. He rises from his chair and walks to his bed, sitting down carefully and feeling the mattress dip under his weight. He reaches out and cups Kisumi’s cheek, forcing the redhead to look at him.

“I like you,” Makoto says, “and only you.”

The look Kisumi gives him, one of utter incredulity and disbelief, makes him frown, but then Kisumi’s lips slowly spread into a massive grin that stretches across both his cheeks and lights up his entire face and it’s just  _breathtaking_.

 

* * *

 

“Aren’t you supposed to have, like, amazing swimmer’s lungs?” Kisumi asks, settling on the grass and tossing the basketball idly back and forth between his hands as Makoto struggles to catch his breath. “Because your stamina sucks,” he adds, laughing. 

“I swim backstroke,” Makoto explains, panting lightly, wiping the sweat from his forehead before gulping down a large amount of his energy drink. “My face doesn’t even go in the water.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Kisumi chides jokingly, grinning. “Actually though, speaking of backstroke,” he says after a moment, glancing at Makoto from the corner of his eye.

“Hm?” Makoto asks, raising a brow at the redhead.

“Hayato told me he really likes swimming that way,” Kisumi says, ceasing the movement of the rubber ball in his hands completely before he looks down at it. “Says it makes him feel safe.”

Makoto feels his heart thrum rapidly in his chest before melting into the confines of his stomach entirely when his eyes properly scan over Kisumi’s face. His expression has softened, his gaze is affectionate, his lightly colored hair sticks damply to his forehead, his mouth is set in the gentlest of smiles. Makoto sidles up close and buries his face in Kisumi’s neck. He kisses the sweaty skin there, feels Kisumi’s pulse point beat underneath his lips.

“I’m glad,” Makoto replies quietly.

Kisumi noses Makoto’s forehead tenderly in response and a silence so easy and comfortable overcomes them. Makoto belatedly thinks he’s never been so relaxed around someone else. It makes him feel something, something deep and warm that curls in the depths of his stomach, something that makes him lightheaded in a surprisingly pleasant way.

 

* * *

 

“Hayato really loves you, huh?”

Makoto raises his head from the little boy sleeping on top of his lap to Kisumi who just walked into the backroom of the recreational center, wearing a brilliant smile. Makoto beams at him in return and shifts a little on the bench, not wanting to jostle Kisumi’s little brother into wakening just yet.

“I’m happy he does,” Makoto says as he reaches out and brushes a few stray hairs out of Hayato’s eyes.

“You’d be a good father.”

Makoto’s head snaps up and he wonders if he’s taking it too seriously, if Kisumi said it only flippantly, but Kisumi’s expression is fond, eyes earnest and kind. His heart rate speeds up and he reaches out for Kisumi's hand, intertwining their fingers together.

“I hope so.”

 

* * *

 

“What do you want to be?” Kisumi asks him. They're lying on Makoto’s bed with Makoto’s head pillowed atop Kisumi's chest.

“What, like, in the future?” Makoto asks.

“Yeah.”

“I think I might want to work with kids,” Makoto replies after a moment of contemplation. “Maybe continue working for Coach Sasabe. Or maybe get a license to teach primary school or something.”

Kisumi hums and starts massaging Makoto's scalp with his fingers, his touch light and soothing. Makoto relaxes into Kisumi's calming ministrations before he asks, “What about you?”

“Honestly?” Kisumi says, laughing a little. “I have no idea.”

Makoto frowns in response to that and is about to reply but Kisumi cuts him off with—

“But I know I want to be with you.”

 

* * *

 

“Pro basketball?” Makoto asks, eyes widening.

“Yeah,” Kisumi answers, rubbing the back of his neck. “I got scouted. They want to offer me a full basketball scholarship to a school in Tokyo.”

“Tokyo,” Makoto parrots, the word feeling heavy in his mouth. Wanting to feel happy but not being able to makes him feel selfish, makes him disgusted with himself over the prospect of the idea that he can’t even express excitement over his boyfriend’s accomplishment. He turns his gaze downwards, scuffs his bare feet against Kisumi's bedroom floor, and rasps out an honest but broken, “I’m proud of you.”

It’s quiet for a few moments, the clock ticking in the background to signal how much time goes by without either of them saying anything.

“Test in,” is what the silence is finally broken by. 

Makoto blinks. “What?”

“Test in,” Kisumi repeats, rising from his spot on his bed and walking over to Makoto, cupping his cheeks and making green eyes look into his own. “You’re smart, you’d get in. Come with me.”

“W-what?” Makoto stammers, but reaches up and laces his fingers with Kisumi’s anyway.  “I can’t just drop everything to go to Tokyo.”

“Why not?” Kisumi asks, eyes as desperate as Makoto feels.

“Because my whole life is here,” Makoto replies, voice thick with emotion. “The twins are getting big and I have to help take care of them and I have my coaching job and my friends and it’s—”

“It’s what?” Kisumi asks, pressing their foreheads together. Makoto doesn’t reply, feels himself at a loss as for what to say. He breathes in slowly and shakes his head. The thought of separation makes his heart feel weighted, makes it pang with a brute aching against his chest. Looking into Kisumi’s eyes makes his resolve crumble by the minute and he can’t—he can’t just drop everything because the rational part of his brain is telling him that Kisumi is just a high school boyfriend and—

“I can’t,” Makoto murmurs, “I can’t.”

“Please come with me,” Kisumi pleads, voice barer than Makoto’s ever heard it. “I know this is selfish but I can’t help it because I want to be with you, I want us to have a life together and fuck—I’m in _love_ with you.”

Makoto’s brain shuts off.

  

* * *

 

“You’re off playing basketball when I have to work a job _and_  go to class to make sure we survive and you can’t understand why I’m angry?”

“What are you suggesting, then?” Kisumi snaps, throwing his basketball down, the sound of it bouncing reverberating throughout the kitchen. “Do you want me to quit the team? Do you want me to give up the chance of being able to go pro just because you can’t handle working a little harder?”

“A _little_ harder?” Makoto hisses, narrowing his eyes. “Do you not understand that I gave up everything back in Iwatobi for this?” he asks, slamming his hands on the dinner table. “Do you not understand that I moved from my big home into this shabby apartment where we can barely even pay the bills so that we could go to the same school together? Do you not understand that I left everything to be with you?!” he yells, cheeks flushing, chest heaving.

“Well, I’m fucking here, aren’t I?!”

“Yeah, well,” Makoto says, wiping at his burning eyes angrily. “Maybe that’s not enough.”

 

* * *

 

“I quit the team today.”

Makoto drops the water bottle he was holding, his blood running cold.

“What?” he croaks.

“I don’t want this to end,” Kisumi chokes out, eyes suspiciously bright. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—I just want you in my life and I’ll give anything up, I just—”

“No,” Makoto says, crossing over the living room from the kitchen in one, two, three strides before straddling Kisumi's lap on the couch and cupping his face, forcing him to look up. “No, no, no,” Makoto protests, bonking their foreheads together harshly, his own eyes smarting.

“What?”

“You told me,” Makoto starts, voice cracking, “that you didn’t even know what you wanted to do with your life a few years ago. And now you’re here doing something you love and I can’t—I can’t take that away from you.”

“But I don’t want to lose you,” Kisumi whispers.

“You _won’t_ ,” Makoto says fiercely, surging forward and pressing their lips together. “You won’t,” he repeats, gentler, after pulling away. “I’m your boyfriend and I—I should be supporting you all the way and I’m the one who’s sorry, okay—I’m so sorry, Kisumi.”

Kisumi bites his lip, tears spilling over his waterline. Makoto thumbs them away, pulls Kisumi’s head into his chest and embraces him tightly.

“Beg for your spot back,” Makoto says. "I'm always going to be here." 

* * *

 

“Oh my God, are you choking?” Kisumi asks, eyes alarmingly wide.

Makoto clutches at his throat and gets up from his seat, watches helplessly as Kisumi runs over to his side and gets behind him, arms encircling his waist. He feels himself being bent over, watches as Kisumi makes a fist right above his navel and covers it with his other hand before sharply pressing inwards and upwards a number of times. Makoto is lifted slightly with each blow and he coughs violently, trying to help the object escape his mouth, until finally a small ring lands on the ground, covered in saliva and bits of cake.

Makoto wheezes and collapses onto his elbows on their dinner table, trying to regain his breath. Kisumi drapes himself over Makoto's back, shakes his head into the fabric of the brunet’s shirt whilst making pathetic noises.

“I can’t believe I nearly killed you while trying to propose,” Kisumi mutters despairingly, voice low and muffled. “Who even hides the ring in a cake anymore?” he asks, groaning. “I’m such an idiot.”

Makoto looks at the ring on the ground. It’s a polished black and has a small center band of emeralds running across it and it’s extravagant and beautiful and Makoto feels his stomach flip in on itself when Kisumi’s words finally register in his brain.

“You—” Makoto cuts himself off and spins around, which forces Kisumi to straighten up off his back. He looks into Kisumi's eyes before letting out a flabbergasted, “You were going to propose?”

“Well, yeah,” Kisumi says, averting his gaze, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m not sure if I should even do it now since you nearly _died_ —”

“Yes,” Makoto interjects, eyes watering, lips stretching into a smile.

“What?” Kisumi asks breathlessly. 

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

 

* * *

 

“You want to apply to an adoption agency now?” Makoto asks, eyebrows shooting into his hairline. “We haven’t even gotten married yet.”

“No, yeah, I know,” Kisumi says, sitting down next to the brunet on the couch and crossing his legs underneath him. “But who knows when we’ll even get the chance? It might take years, you know?” he reasons, meeting Makoto's gaze. “Long after we get married.”

“I guess that’s true,” Makoto says, mulling the idea over in his head, pursing his lips.

“Are you doubting yourself?” Kisumi asks, reaching out and threading his fingers through Makoto’s hair. “Because you’ll be a great dad. I know you will.”

Makoto leans into the touch before throwing an arm around Kisumi's waist, cuddling in close. “If there’s anyone I’m doubting, it’s you, honestly,” he responds, eyes crinkling in mirth. “If you nearly killed me with my own engagement ring, how are you going to take care of a child?”

“That was by accident!” Kisumi squawks indignantly. 

Makoto laughs and tips his head up to press a kiss to the underside of the redhead’s jaw. “Okay. Let’s apply.”

 

* * *

 

“Babe, you need to calm down—ow, Jesus Christ, stop, stop!” 

“I can’t believe it’s happening already,” Makoto says lowly in amazement. He tightens his grip on Kisumi’s hand even further as he looks down at the surrogate for his child, looks at her beautiful sweaty face and her tightly shut eyes and her lips curled into a frown as she pushes and pushes and pushes.

“I can’t hold our baby if you crush my damned hand, Makoto!”

 

* * *

 

“Look at your papa, Natsumi, ” Makoto croons from the sidelines, holding up his two-year-old daughter’s chubby arms and waving them around. “Isn’t he handsome?”

Kisumi is up to take a free throw and he looks confident, if the way he’s puffing out his chest is any indicator. Makoto smiles to himself and watches as his fiancé walks up to the foul line and dribbles the basketball once, twice, thrice, and then looks to the sidelines, directly at Makoto and the small bundle of joy dancing around happily beside him. Makoto raises an eyebrow in question but all Kisumi does is point a finger directly at the both of them, switches the basketball to his other hand, bends his knees and actually _shoots_ —

And it barely even makes it in, dancing around the rim for nearly five entire seconds before finally, finally dipping inside and making a wonderful whooshing sound. Makoto stares, mouth agape, while Natsumi squeals and giggles happily, screaming, “Papa! Papa!”

The crowd is positively still for a moment before they go absolutely _wild_  and they really should because that was by far the flashiest and cheesiest thing anyone could ever do in such a risky situation, but it’s so like Kisumi that Makoto can’t help but letting out a laugh, can't help cheering alongside his daughter.

Most of all, Makoto can’t help but feel his heart swell three times its size when Kisumi looks at him and shoots him a dazzling grin, a grin that outshines anything else in the entire stadium.

 

* * *

 

“You know, I’m totally okay with the fact that Haru cares about you,” Kisumi says into Makoto’s ear as they move slowly on the dance floor. “I’m really not okay with the fact that he threatened to kill me before you walked down the aisle, though.”

Makoto chances a glance backwards at his best man, laughs when he sees Haruka holding a giddy four-year-old Natsumi in his lap whilst vehemently glaring at Kisumi. Makoto looks back at his new husband, nose wrinkling with amusement.

“He’s just a little protective.”

“Yeah, well, so am I,” Kisumi grumbles as he tightens his grip around Makoto’s waist. Makoto just smiles, warm and sweet, before tucking his head into the crook of Kisumi’s neck.

Music flows within the confines of the reception hall as their feet move gracefully and delicately on the wooden panel, as their fingers intertwine, matching bands shining in the soft spotlight.

**Author's Note:**

> ahhahaha ohhh gOD


End file.
